


Silver, Gold

by orphan_account



Series: Smut Promptathon [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, I have no idea what the right tag for that would be, M/M, Threesome - F/M/M, Two people doing it one giving directions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 16:34:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1134947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finwë enjoys power; Míriel and Ingwë enjoy each other, and him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silver, Gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CollyWobbleKiwi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CollyWobbleKiwi/gifts).



> A smut-a-thon prompt: Míriel/Ingwë, with Finwë watching and giving directions.

_High King,_ Míriel liked to call him in bed sometimes, a loving smirk curving the corners of her mouth, and Finwë had to admit it pleased him. There was something in him that had been present since he was young, a hunger - a yearning for power, something looked down upon by many people in these peaceful days. _Ambition is - well, all right in smaller matters, I suppose,_ Ingwë has said, during one of their recent talks. _But it leads you to speak of challenging Manwë’s decisions - I think it might be a little too strong in you, Finwë._

Ingwë, Finwë thought with quiet satisfaction, was not protesting Finwë’s weilding of power now. Leaning against the head of the bed, he smiled quietly at Míriel.   
  
"Enough teasing." Ingwë was gasping for breath, hips twitching under Míriel’s slim, skilled hands. "Take him in, beloved."  
  
Míriel smiled back, her teeth gleaming white under Telperion’s rays pouring through the window; Finwë had drawn back the curtain a while ago. They had little chance of being seen, on the second floor with no windows facing theirs, and it was naught but a faint thrill to think they might. He preferred how Míriel looked with silver light on silver hair, and Ingwë was made more beautiful, if that was possible, by it.   
  
"You are like the mingling light of the Trees," Finwë murmured to him, bending low and kissing his forehead. Ingwë gasped, eyes glassy with pleasure as Miriel guided him into her body, and strained his face upward for a kiss on the lips as well. Finwë gave it to him; Finwë was nothing if not a generous king.   
  
And such a king he felt, with every command he gave answered by motion in Míriel or Ingwë! “Beautiful one,” he whispered to Ingwë, “she likes to be touched as well as entered,” and Ingwë mustered the strength to raise a hand to the slick opening between Míriel’s legs, to caress the nub with the pad of his thumb. Finwë closed his eyes for a moment, delighting in Míriel’s moan, and let his hand go to his own cock, which was already swollen hard from watching the sight before him.   
  
"Ride him, Míriel," he opened his eyes to say, "I know the skill you have, make him cry out," and Míriel laughed.  
  
"Yes, my king," she answered, breathless and bright-eyed, and rolled her hips so that Ingwë gave a low groan, masking Finwë’s softer moan as he pulled at his cock.   
  
He felt as if Telperion’s and Laurelin’s light were made into solid form before him, at his command, and told the two of them so, voice hoarse with desire, as he leant in to kiss Míriel. She kissed him gently, fingertips tracing his shoulder, and for a minute her hips stilled; Ingwë moaned, and said, after a moment, “Is Laurelin to be neglected, then?”   
  
Laughter rippled through all three of them like a wave would pass through water; Finwë had never felt so close to the two of them before.   
  
"Surely not," he said, when the laughter had quieted a little. "Míriel, do you wish to rest a little? Perhaps you should lie down, and Ingwë do some of the work, so we shall not forget about him lying there."  
  
Míriel’s mouth was still tremulous with laughter; she pressed her hand against it, and answered, in a perfectly serious tone, “I do not know if I trust him to be so precise as you, dear one.”  
  
"I will give him," Finwë said, knowing what she was looking for, "plenty of instruction."


End file.
